What Are We?
by Prophetic Fire
Summary: So they weren't just brothers. They never had been. How could he have ever thought they were? Uyo had his friends, and his romances, and his sexual partners, but there was no one––no one––like Gala.


"What are we?"

The words stirred Uyo out of his half-slumber. He breathed deeply and shifted, resettling his head against the warmth of Gala's broad chest. The room was dark save for the faint glow of the running lights, the weighted silence and soft snoring of surrounding brothers indicating it must still be well into their sleep rotation. Gala must have known, then, that Uyo wasn't quite asleep. He always did. But…

"What do you mean?"

Uyo felt Gala's hand come up to run his fingers gently through Uyo's hair. "I mean…" Gala said, softly, so as to not wake anyone else. "I mean this. Us. What are we?"

Uyo shifted again, so he could peer at Gala in the soft light. Gala's eyes were fixed on the underside of the bunk above them. A small frown tugged the corners of his mouth down and furrowed his brow. Gala's lost-in-thought look. He hadn't slept at all yet, it seemed. Very unlike him.

Uyo reached up and lightly brushed Gala's cheek. "What are you thinking?"

Gala's eyelids fluttered closed at the touch, and his hand twined tighter through Uyo's regulation curls. But his frown deepened. Uyo waited for him to respond. Gala liked to be precise with his words, and the set of his jaw told Uyo he was trying to find the right way to say whatever was on his mind. The silence stretched between them.

 _"Gala,"_ Uyo said, gently but forcefully. Hardly above a whisper still, yet just enough of a medic's command to break Gala out of his thoughts. "Gala say it. Don't think. Just say it."

Gala took in a breath. "We…"

 _"Gala––"_

"We don't have sex."

The words came out in a rush. Gala tilted his head slightly, away from Uyo. His eyes stayed closed. "We sleep together, but we don't have sex. We see other people, but we always come back to each other. We've danced together. We hold hands. We do…this." Gala captured Uyo's hand and brought it to his cheek again. With a soft sigh, he turned back to meet Uyo's eyes. "I told that new girl––Aerie––that we were just brothers, but that's not right, is it? That's not quite right."

It was Uyo's turn to look away. Gala had a point. He didn't have sex with Gala. He sought out other people for that, always had. But he always came back. It _was_ because they were friends…wasn't it? Close friends. Brothers. But not more. Right?

Nobody he'd ever known who called themselves "just brothers" laid in bed with their hand on their brother's cheek and their face pressed into his chest.

 _Shit_.

But if they weren't just brothers––if they weren't just friends––what were they?

Uyo was suddenly aware of the tension radiating from Gala. His hand had stopped stroking through Uyo's hair, the muscles of his chest were tight against Uyo's face, his whole body seeming ready to leap off the bunk. Uyo looked up with a start.

"What's wrong?"

Gala swallowed audibly. "Do you…do you want me to leave?"

 _Oh_.

Involuntarily, Uyo let out a chuckle. "No, course not. Sorry _ner vod_ , I just got lost in thought." He patted Gala's cheek reassuringly.

Gala stared down at him with wary eyes. He huffed, but Uyo could feel him relaxing a little beside him. "Are we even sure that's the right sentiment to be using?"

Uyo wiggled his way further up the bunk, to tuck his head into the crook of Gala's neck. The clean scent of shower still lingered on his skin, despite their having showered hours ago.

"I don't know," he whispered. "Never thought about it before, until now. You caught me off guard."

They lay in silence again. Gala resumed carding his fingers through Uyo's hair, and Uyo couldn't help smiling softly against his neck. He twined his fingers with Gala's over Gala's chest. So they weren't just brothers. They never had been. How could he have ever thought they were? Uyo had his friends, and his romances, and his sexual partners, but there was no one–– _no one_ ––like Gala. No one he could talk to as easily. No one he trusted more. No one in whose company he could just relax, just _be_. No one for whom the little details, like clean shower scent, could stir such…such… _whatever_ this was, that pulled at his heart.

"Do I love you?" Uyo finally whispered. "Is that what this is?"

He pushed on his elbow to sit up a little, leaning over Gala. His eyes found Gala's in the shadows of the darkened room. He felt the question writing itself onto his expression.

"I think I love _you_ ," Gala said, giving Uyo's hand a gentle squeeze. "I think I always have."

"But what does that make us then?" If they loved each other, weren't they supposed to be a couple? Or something? Weren't they supposed to _do_ things? How was he supposed to act around Gala if they loved each other? Was he not supposed to be with other people now? What if––

Suddenly, Gala's arms were around him, pulling him back down against Gala's chest. Uyo let out a squeak. The even breathing of some nearby brothers faltered. Gala muffled a snort in Uyo's shoulder and rolled onto his side, making shushing noises as he tucked Uyo in close.

 _"What was that for?"_ Uyo whispered into Gala's chest.

Gala chuckled, softly but warmly. "Shh, shh, I could hear you thinking." He settled the sheets more comfortably around them. "You're doing that medic thing again. Chasing every scenario. I should never have woken you to ask, I'm sorry."

Uyo squirmed a bit. "But it's important to you, and we should figure––"

Uyo faltered as Gala pressed a kiss to the top of his head. His chest squeezed in a way that left him breathless. Gala was–– Gala was––

…talking. Gala was talking.

"We've still got time," he whispered into Uyo's hair. "We'll figure it out. Just sleep now."

Uyo wanted to protest. Wanted to say no, they didn't have time, they didn't know that, there was no guarantee, they should figure it out right now. But Gala's chest was so warm, and his arms around Uyo so secure, and the tingle of Gala's lips on his head was spreading across his skin in a way remarkably similar to topical anesthetic. And if Uyo's body decided to override his mind and sink into that warmth and that tingling, well, he wasn't really going to complain, was he?


End file.
